


Mirror Images

by mosylu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Smut, Under-negotiated Kink, role play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 00:38:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/pseuds/mosylu
Summary: Things get reversed in the mirror.
Or that one time Caitlin and Cisco decided to do filthy doppelganger role play, and maybe got a little more than they bargained for.





	

Caitlin was rooting around in the cabinet for the contact case when Cisco came in the bathroom.

“Hey,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “Don’t we get some victory makeout time? We went out as our doppelgangers, we got what we needed, we didn’t almost die. That’s, like, a rousing success for us.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m excited too. But you don’t want to kiss me like this.” She gestured at her Killer Frost getup.

“I always want to kiss you.” He gave her neck a quick smooch, as if to prove it.

“It doesn’t weird you out to kiss Killer Frost?” She tugged at the long platinum curls of her wig. “I mean, you met the real thing. She wasn’t very nice.”

“Well, my real thing wasn’t very nice, either. You didn’t meet him. He was an asshole.”

She cupped his face and leaned back to kiss him, because he definitely wasn’t an asshole, even in his leather jacket and with his hair pulled back the way he hated. He smiled against her mouth.

When the kiss ended, she stayed leaning back against him, reveling in his solid warmth. “What would they think of this?”

“What, us? Making out in the Star Labs bathroom?” He nuzzled her shoulder. “Don’t know.”

“Didn’t you say they despised each other?”

“Yeah,” he said. “But - you know. Hate sex is a thing.”

“I’ve never done that.”

“Yeah, me neither. But I get the feeling that hate sex was Reverb’s very favorite kind.”

“Really?”

“Knowing that you’re nailing somebody who wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire?” He toyed with one of her curls. “But when you’ve got them naked and begging, they’ll do anything you tell them, even if they hate you for it.”

She studied him in the mirror. “Is that Cisco or Reverb talking?”

He met her eyes a moment, then glanced away. “There’s a little bleed through. I mean - same person, different universe, and all.”

She reached back and touched his cheek until his gaze met hers in the mirror again. “Not quite the same person.”

“Not quite not,” he returned.

She dropped her hand. “I don’t think Killer Frost would mind hate sex either,” she said. “My sense was that she enjoyed it when people despised her.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think she’d hate being told what to do? Especially by Reverb.”

“It would probably make the sex even hotter.” She bit her lip.

“What are you thinking?” he asked. His hand settled on her hip as if he knew perfectly well what she was thinking.

She turned in his arms, leaning back against the sink. “We are in the costumes already.” She ran her hand down his front. “And you - you know how you get after going out in the field.”

He caught his breath as she toyed with his belt buckle. “Well, that’s true,” he said.

She lifted her eyes to his. They were hot and focused and a tingle ran down her spine.

She reached up and twisted a platinum lock around her index finger. She felt her mouth curl up in a smirk. “You wanna fuck me, Reverb?”

The voice wasn’t exactly - _hers._

He tilted his head, studying her, eyes narrowed.

Without meaning to, she licked her lips, and watched his breath catch. He pulled his shades out of his pocket and slid them on. “I think you want to fuck me, Killer Frost.”

She shivered. She’d never realized how much she depended on the expressions in Cisco’s eyes. With his shades covering them, he became remote, unreadable. Even his voice was different. Lower. More drawling. There was a not-entirely-pleasant twist to his mouth.

Her nipples went tight against the stiff material of her corset top. She swallowed hard.

When nearly a minute had passed, and she still couldn’t think of what to say next in their dirty little improv, he shifted uneasily. There was enough worry in the set of his mouth and the line of his brows that she reached down to cover his hand on her hip and squeeze it.

He squeezed back, and his shoulders relaxed. “You have too many clothes on,” his Reverb voice said.

“I - ” She swallowed again. “I haven’t gotten a good reason to take anything off yet.” Her voice came out lazy, sneering, contemptuous.

“The reason is that I’m telling you to.” He kissed her neck again, but his teeth dug in for a moment. She caught her breath.

Slow and deliberate, she shrugged the jacket off one shoulder, then the other, letting it slide down her arms, revealing the slope of her chest and the lines of her bare shoulders.

“Better,” he said, tugging the jacket the rest of the way off and tossing it to the floor.

A protest bubbled up in her throat, and she remembered that Killer Frost probably wouldn’t give a care for clothes thrown on the floor. Besides, it was the same tough stuff that Barry’s suit was made out of. It would be fine.

He smirked at her as if he knew what she’d been thinking.

She reached between their bodies and stroked the swell of his erection. “Mmm,” she purred. “Doesn’t take much, does it?”

He caught her wrist - not painfully, but forcefully - and moved her hand to the fastening of her halter top. She flicked the catch and peeled her top down. His hand followed hers, and she arched her back to press her bared breast into the warmth of his palm.

He ran his thumb over her nipple. “Undo your pants,” he said.

“Why am I doing all the work?”

He pinched her nipple and she jolted. “Because I’m telling you to.”

Glaring at him, she unbuttoned her pants and taunted him with her hand at the zipper, flicking the tiny metal tab without pulling it down.

He kissed her hard, until she tasted blood, and it sent a dark thrill rocketing through her body. She sank her fingers into his hair and clenched them until he growled and grabbed her hips, spinning her around so she faced the mirror.

She looked positively pornographic with her top down, her breasts bared, the deep blue lipstick smeared across her mouth. He was a dark shadow over her shoulder, darker than she could account for with the bathroom’s lighting.

She laughed.

He sank his teeth into her earlobe and let go when she gasped. He said, “Undo your pants. I’m not telling you again.”

She drew it out it, tugging the zipper down oh so slowly. She folded one side back, then the other, revealing a triangle of green cotton panties. She hooked her thumbs in her waistband and started to push them down.

“Now did I tell you to do that?” he growled.

She tossed her hair so it brushed across his face, and he sneered at her. “Awwww, did you want to?”

He knocked her hands out of the way and slid his own under the tight leather and the cotton. He kneaded her hips for a moment, fingers digging into her skin, then with one quick move, shoved her pants to mid-thigh.

She shuddered as the cool air of the bathroom whispered over private places, then shuddered again when his fingers combed through the hair between her legs. One finger dipped into the seam and he grinned widely, all teeth and dimples, when he felt how wet she was.

“Bend over and grab the sink,” he murmured.

“What if I don’t?”

“Then your pussy won’t get any of my cock, now will it?” He rocked his hips against her so she could feel the hot swell of his erection against her ass.

She shuddered. “You’re an asshole, Reverb.”

“And you’re a bitch, Killer Frost. Now do what I tell you.”

She shuddered harder, then grabbed the edges of the sink and pushed her ass back into his groin, grinding against his hardness.

He slapped her hip, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to sting. “Stop that.”

“Make me,” she purred.

He stepped away, breaking all contact.

“What the hell!” She started to straighten up.

He put one hand against her back, between her shoulder blades, light but with the suggestion of pressure. A suggestion that he could hold her right where he wanted, for as long as he wanted.

She watched him in the mirror, panting slightly.

He smirked at her and dropped his free hand to the bulge at his groin. “Is this what you want?”

She shrugged.

He flicked open the button and pulled his zipper down. “Mmm?”

“It’s all right,” she said. Her heartbeat thudded between her legs.

He laughed. “You want it so bad, you’re dripping.”

She put her nose in the air. “Tell yourself that, Reverb.”

“Okay,” he said equably. “How about if I just - ” He pulled his cock out of his underwear, full and hard, the head red and swollen. “Bring myself off.”

She risked letting go of the sink to trace one finger around a straining nipple. Shimmers of electricity danced over her nerve endings at her own touch, but she wanted his. “Really? When I’m right here? Naked from the thighs up?”

“Like my very own Playboy spread.” He stroked his cock from root to tip, slow and obscene, and rubbed his thumb over the little bead of precum at the tip.

She licked her lips without meaning to, and he laughed again. “Tell me what you want,” he crooned.

She pressed her knees together for the unsatisfying pressure. She thought, _That bastard; that fucking bastard._ She said, “That.”

“Where?”

She swallowed hard. “My pussy.”

He tilted his head, pursed his lips, shrugged. “Well, all right.”

She almost whimpered at the slowness with which he fished the condom out of his pocket and rolled it on, then moved behind her. The blunt tip prodded at her slick entrance.

His hands tightened on her hips as he pressed deep inside her, and she could swear she heard him moan. She gave a triumphant little laugh to stop herself from moaning in return, and squeezed her inner muscles around his length, listening to his breath hiccup.

That was probably why he said, “Touch yourself.”

She ran her middle finger up between her breasts, sneering at him in the mirror.

He dug his fingertips hard into her hip. “You know where.”

Usually, it was his hand between her legs in this position, but that was Cisco, sweet and generous, not his dark doppelganger. She thought about defying him again, but moved her hand down her body, to the slick, stretched place where they joined.

She gasped when her fingers pressed against her clit, and he grunted a little as she tightened around him in reaction. He began fucking her harder as she rubbed herself, panting and moaning.

The hand still gripping the edge of the sink was getting sweaty, and one particularly hard thrust made it slip an inch or so, throwing her off balance. “Wait,” she yelped. “Cisco, Cisco, wait.”

He paused, and she wiped her hand on her corset before reaching out and bracing it against the wall by the mirror. “Okay,” she said.

He smirked at her in the mirror. “Okay? Okay what?”

“You know what.” She pushed back against him.

“Mmm, not really.”

“Fuck me, Reverb.”

“Like this?” His hips slammed into hers so hard she went up on her toes in her already high-heeled boots. She moaned out loud, and he laughed.

She began to lose herself in the hard rhythm, the pressure, the slide and stick of their skin, the way his fingers dragged across her stomach and tightened over her breast, the filthy things he was breathing in her ear.

“You hate me, you fucking hate me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she groaned. “I despise you.”

“Can’t stand me, but can’t live without this.” He pressed his mouth to her neck, sucking so hard she thought the circle of skin would just peel off. “You’re like an addict, Killer Frost.”

She laughed. “Whose cock is always hard for me? I don’t think I’m the only addict here.”

His hand manacled her wrist and pulled it up her stomach, so she couldn’t reach. He panted in her ear, breath hot and heavy, the weight of his body against her back like a unfastened straitjacket. “You want me to let you come?”

“You know I do,” she said, squirming against him, straining for a little friction. She was so close. Teetering on the edge. And he’d gone still, the asshole.

“Say please.”

She bit her lip. “Please.”

“Say pretty please.”

“Pretty - fucking - please,” she snarled.

“You’re so hot when you’re plotting murder,” he murmured, and pushed her hand down between her legs so she could reach her clit again. One flick, two, and she shuddered and trembled through her orgasm, while he laughed triumphantly in her ear.

She caught her breath, trying to pull herself back together. He was nipping at her ear again as he rocked in and out, the friction and the pressure of his cock sending aftershocks rolling up her core.

Her fingers were wet and slick. She swirled them around her clit once or twice, then lifted her hand. She held it up in front of her shoulder, just close enough that he could see and smell her fluids.

He went still. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes through the dark glasses, she knew they were focused on her gleaming, wet fingers.

He _loved_ the taste of her pussy.

“Want it?” she purred, fluttering her fingers. She traced her middle finger over the fullness of his lower lip, leaving a slick gleam behind. His tongue slid out and she laughed and yanked her hand away.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand back to his mouth. She didn’t resist, even when she felt the scrape of his teeth along with the warm, wet swirl of his tongue around her fingers.

She shuddered again and squeezed her internal muscles, sending an aftershock right up her spine.

He moaned into her palm and began moving again, frantic, chasing his climax. She dropped her hand back to his hip and dug her fingernails into the skin, and he growled, “Fuh-uh-uck - ”

She looked back in the mirror, because she didn’t want to miss seeing him come.

The mirror rewarded her with the tendons straining in his neck, his mouth red and wet, his teeth digging into his lower lip, his fingers going white-knuckled on her arm, and then finally, his head drooping and his forehead settling on her shoulder.

She loosened her grip on his hip, smoothing her palm over it, crooning to him. After his breath had slowed, he kissed her shoulder and reached down to hold the condom as he pulled out, letting her go.

She reached up and pulled her wig off, dumping it unceremoniously on top of her jacket. He pulled off his goggles and tossed them into the sink, where they clattered.

It was good to see his eyes again.

She kissed him, as softly as possible, and the kiss he gave back was equally as tender. No teeth. “You okay?”

“I’m amazing,” she said. “That was - ”

“Intense,” he said.

She traced his hairline with one finger. “But good, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just, also, intense.”

She put her arms around him and held him. He touched kisses to her jaw and her ear and her hairline, sweaty from the wig and the fuck.

“Hey.”

“Mmmm?”

“We should probably have a talk about pain. At some point soon, here.” He touched her neck, brushed his fingers over her nipple where he’d pinched.

“I liked it,” she reassured him.

“Yeah, I could tell that. But we both sort of went with it in the moment, and while it was amazing, let’s figure out where the lines are so it stays amazing, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. “Yes. We’ll talk.”

They kissed some more, leisurely, touching each other with gentle hands. Eventually, they pulled apart and peeled off the rest of their costumes.

Caitlin pulled on yoga pants and a Gotham University t-shirt from grad school. After spending all day in her work clothes and several athletic hours in her Killer Frost getup, she felt the need for comfort.

When Cisco leaned over to kiss her again, she kissed him back and stole his hoodie.

“Hey,” he said amiably.

She shrugged into it. “It’s cold tonight.”

“Uh,” he said. “Not really.”

She focused on zipping up. “It’s almost October.”

“Yeah, but summer didn’t get the memo. It’s still seventy-something out there.”

That much? “Plus it smells like you,” she said.

He grinned, distracted. “You probably smell like me after what we just did.”

“Even better.” She tugged her hair out of the braid she’d confined it to, under the wig, and ran her fingers through it, wrinkling her nose at the mirror. “Where did all that stuff come from, by the way? The things you were saying.”

He shrugged. “Not really sure, honestly. It just sort of came out of my mouth.”

A chill ghosted across the back of her neck. A goose walking over her grave, her grandmother would have said. “Dirty headcanon?” she laughed.

He laughed too, a little uneasily. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

The sound of laser guns - pchew, pchew - echoed, and he checked his phone. “Sweet, food’s here.”

She jumped on the change of topic. “You ordered food? What’d you get?”

“That Hawaiian place on Wilmington. Teriyaki chicken, two double orders cuz I’m staaaaarving.”

She pressed a hand to her rumbling stomach. “That sounds amazing. Oh, did you - ”

“Yes, I got a side of macaroni salad for you.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know about you sometimes.”

“You’re not eating it,” she retorted, kissing him as thanks for ordering the food.

He grabbed her hand. “C'mon, let’s go eat.”

When she glanced at the accessories on the floor and in the sink, he said, “Hey, don’t worry about them. We’ll get ‘em later.”

She let him pull her out of the bathroom. He was right. They were just things. Pieces of a costume. Scraps of pretend.

Although maybe - just for safety - they shouldn’t play that particular game again for a little while.

FINIS


End file.
